


Night lilies

by LostinFic



Series: Any David Tennant character x Any Billie Piper character [13]
Category: Fright Night (2011), Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Crossover Pairings, Museums, Not Shippy, Other, Teninch Fic, teninch bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 16:43:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6996274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostinFic/pseuds/LostinFic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is it about this portrait that makes Peter come back to it over and over again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night lilies

Spending time at the National Gallery, now that was an activity Peter never thought he would enjoy. Maybe if he had known earlier about the amount of nudity or how freaky artsy girls can get in the sack… but the truth was that ever since his vampire encounter in Vegas, he preferred daytime activities.

He’d come here every week since his return in the UK. There was a portrait he always found himself drawn to: Night Lilies by Carlo Perugini. It depicted a woman in the middle of a garden, a full moon in the sky above her and calla lilies at her feet, their stems broken and bent. Like most of Perugini’s paintings, the model’s skin radiated with a soft light that made him want to stroke the canvas— it was forbidden to do so, as he’d found out the hard way. Everything about the portrayed woman was of an angel from her wavy blond hair and cute button nose to her shimmering pink dress. And yet a coldness emanated from her. She had an Escher-esque visage that one could never fully perceive and comprehend.

Maybe it’s that contradiction, that aura of danger and mystery, that pulled him back every time.

Peter sat on the bench facing the painting, his eyes darted across the room as he pulled a flask from an inner pocket. He took a swig of Midori, made sure he was still alone, and took another one.

For the first time, he paid closer attention to the woman’s surrounding rather than her splendid curves. There were shapes in the dark bushes at her right, sharp brush strokes like hirsute hair or pointy teeth. 

He stood up to take a closer look. The lights went out. Peter staggered. The room was plunged into total darkness. Blood drained from his face as he reached for the crucifix around his neck.

A gallery assistant in the next room spoke: “Don’t panic, just a minor power outage. Please, gather round.”

The employee waved his torchlight, its stream of light hit the canvas and revealed even stranger shapes in the thick black paint. A cold sweat broke on Peter’s forehead. With shaky hands, he flicked his lighter to see them again. The unsteady flame gave the impression of insects crawling under the canvas, and the lady’s honey-brown eyes turned a wolfish yellow. Peter whimpered.

“Oi, what d’you think you’re doing, mate! Give me that lighter.”

The gallery assistant wrestled the Zippo out of Peter’s hand. The lights came back on, blinding them momentarily.

Still shaking, Peter sat back on the bench. He took in a few deep breaths before glancing back at the painting.

"See, it’s fine, just paint on a canvas, nothing abnormal about it. No monsters, just a woman."

He made himself look at it until fear fazed out of his body, and he could stand on his legs again.

Rather than go straight home, he stopped at the museum café on the first floor. This was absolutely not because he didn’t want to be alone, he just needed some hydration, and perhaps he would find some female company. He had picked up girls in more unlikely places before.

After paying for his flat white, Peter scanned the other patrons. He spotted a blond woman sitting on a stool by the window. He couldn’t see her face, but if the front matched the rear, he would chat her up.

Casually, he walked past her and peered at her face. His heart lurched in his throat. No, it couldn’t be. She looked like the woman in the painting. She smiled, and it chilled him to the bones. He dropped his cup and scampered off.


End file.
